I fully admit this is the pause before I do something else. But there is value in silence. There is absolute in a vacuum. And there is this in the space between things.
There was once a muse. And then there wasn’t. And in the absence, obsession was revealed. I know now I am prone to these things. The fancy of notion and the promise of destiny. Things that are not harmful in their own, but left unchecked burdens the notioner to a place of poison. And I can’t even fathom where the subject suffers.
But I miss the muse, a muse.
And just like that, I am amused by the language.